Holding On For Tonight
by MayFairy
Summary: Being unable to fight except when protecting Charlie means that Quill is unable to defend herself when she's alone. One night, a group of men start taking advantage of this, only to find themselves disintegrated by an archaeologist in a mini dress. After insisting on helping Quill clean herself up, River gives in to the urge to give a lonely, hurting Quill exactly what she needs.


The trick to getting a Time Lord to actually sleep? Ride him hard for a couple of hours, and then steal his TARDIS once he's conked out on the bed.

River hums to herself as she picks out some new clothes from the wardrobe - tight, gorgeous, and with red lipstick to top it all off, of course - and then moves around the console with ease. She feels like a drink. Something familiar. 21st century London. Where she would be if Mels had been someone normal and not a weapon.

Plus, her husband's terrible influence. There's just something about it.

There's a bar she knows and is quite fond of isn't far off where she lands, and she strides out onto the street ready to find a few gorgeous things to flirt with over some cocktails.

What she instead finds, or rather, _hears_ , is the sound of yelling. Desperate yelling punctuated and grunts and threats in deeper voices.

The streets are deserted; it's later than River had aimed for. Not really one for playing the hero all the time, but also not one to ignore what sounds like a woman in trouble, she follows the sounds until she reaches the mouth of an alleyway next to a pub.

What she sees is not, by her standards, remotely shocking. But it does make her stomach turn.

Four men, of varying but generally impressive builds, have a woman cornered. And boy, River has never seen a woman quite like this one. A caged animal, screaming at them not so much with fear but with fury, barely flinching when they hit her or make a grab for her clothing. Her screams are awful, graphic threats, or sounds akin to a battle cry.

She hits them back, too, but the odd thing is that whenever she does, _she_ screams louder than they do, and clutches her head.

"What's wrong with this bitch?" One of the men asks the others, the third time River sees it happen.

"Who cares?" Another one sneers.

The woman - a tall, skinny blonde with a sharp bob, wearing heels and a suit that was probably quite nice before these brutes started tearing at it - gets her hands around one of their necks. She can barely squeeze for five seconds before she cries out again and falls, hitting the ground despite the man in question grabbing her hair.

"Did no one teach you to follow through, blondie?"

"If I could, I would rip your intestines out and hang you with them, and then cut off your cock and stuff it down your throat for good measure," the woman snarls as she's dragged to her feet and one of them pulls her dark blazer off. "I will find a way to kill every last one of you _stinking, disgusting humans_ , slowly, and painfully, if you lay one disgusting finger on me."

Humans? My, this just got even more interesting. And now, it certainly calls for River's intervention.

"Or, they could run along and we could avoid this whole, distasteful, business," River calls from the alley entrance.

The group of men freeze.

"Run along, lady," one of them says to her. "This don't concern you."

River locks eyes with the woman, being held so tightly by two of the men even as she struggles against them. To her surprise, the woman doesn't plead for help. Her mouth is pressed closed - firm and defiant. But her eyes tell a different story. They're not pleading for help either, not exactly. They're shining with injustice and fury and something so bitter and devastating that it wrenches River's insides.

River gets the strong gut feeling that, for whatever reason, this woman doesn't quite know how to ask for help.

"I'd say it does," River replies, with a cool smile. "Now, if you let go of her and make yourselves scarce, I might forget I ever saw you and spare your lives. If not, well. That could be a problem."

"Get lost, bitch." The man who says this then turns away, his hands moving to the buttons of the blonde's blouse.

"No, I mean it, I will _destroy you_ ," she snarls, her voice raising in what finally sounds like panic. She spits in his face and tries to bite him, which is difficult when two of the others are holding her shoulders and arms firm.

River's jaw clenches. Her hand goes to her coat pocket, where she withdraws her favourite alpha mison blaster. She takes the safety off.

"Have I mentioned that I'm armed?" She calls.

One of the men lifts an eyebrow and holds up his own, mediocre, gun. "Yeah, so am I, lady. And if you come any closer, I'll blow her brains out-"

Before he can finish pointing the gun in the direction of the blonde's head, River moves quicker and has the pleasure of watching him disintegrate and the gun clatter to the alley floor.

The other men go still, and wide eyed. The blonde takes her chance to yank herself free of their grip and punch one of them, even if she _yells_ after doing so. He punches her back, while the others glance at River and then make a dive for the gun.

River shoots them both before they can reach it, striding forward until there's only a few metres between her, the remaining man, and the woman, who he immediately relinquishes. The blonde falls to the ground and spits blood out of her mouth. River, meanwhile, approaches the man and squares her gun right between his eyes.

The point blank range is completely unnecessary for a gun of this type, of course, but she does so love to see the fear in their eyes.

"Please," he stammers, "let me go. It weren't my idea, I was just - please! Don't kill me!"

River looks him dead in the eye, and her lip curls upward as she tilts her head a fraction. "No," she says simply, and disintegrates him.

For a moment she just watches the tiny particles that are left of him fall to the ground like ash, and then she puts the gun away.

An odd, strangled sound brings her attention back to the woman on the ground. Who is now crying.

"Hey, it's okay," River tells her, crouching in front of her. She reaches for the woman's shoulder only to have her flinch away from the touch. "You're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you."

"But you _could_ ," the woman chokes, "if you wanted to, you could, just like they could, because I can't fight back. Not you, not them, not _anyone_. Is this _justice_? Is this _fair punishment_?"

River doesn't quite understand, but now probably isn't the time for that. "What's your name?"

"Quill," comes the whisper.

She finally looks up at River, all blue eyes and strong nose with blood dripping from it. Those blue eyes stare, caught by something she sees in River's face, and her fingers reach out to brush a curl from River's face and trail across the skin of her cheek.

"Who are you?" Quill asks, voice barely more than a breath.

"I'm River." She catches Quill's hand and holds it there against her cheek, using the gentlest gaze she has. "And as long as I'm here, I promise no one will hurt you."

"What are you? Some kind of fucking guardian angel?" Quill's voice is mocking as she coughs up some more blood, but her eyes don't quite carry the same sentiment.

"Oh, I think I'm about the furthest thing possible from that," River says softly. "But once in a while, I do something good. Save somebody. And I like to think that counts for something."

"Think whatever you like, it's not like my opinion's ever counted for anything anyway," Quill mutters.

"You're not from this planet, are you, Quill?"

Quill looks at her with alarm that lasts all of a moment. "What's it to you? You going to cart me away and throw me in a cell somewhere? Because I've had enough of cells."

"So have I," River replies, smiling. "I was thinking that instead, maybe you'd want a drink. And a nice hot bath. That sound good?"

"Where?"

"I know a place."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Well, I just saved you from something fairly awful, I'd say that's the best start any stranger could hope to make," River says. "But I don't have a better answer than that. I suppose you'll have to look in my eyes and decide if you do."

Quill does. She stares at River, and swallows. "Well, you're more of an avenging angel, I suppose. Especially with the lipstick."

"Is that a problem?"

Quill gives her an odd, toothy grin. "Nope. Avenging's more my style."

River laughs. "So, tentatively trusting? Keen for somewhere nice, with a bath?"

Something in Quill gives, a shudder running through her whole body as she exhales. "Yeah," she whispers. "Alright."

River helps her to her feet, and takes her in properly. Her hands itch towards Quill's gaping blouse, the first four buttons undone so that her plain black bra is on almost full display.

"Can I?" River asks, softly.

Quill glances down, clenches her jaw, and furiously buttons them back up. Her cheeks flush with what River believes to be a kind of shame.

"It wasn't your fault," River says, as Quill looks around for her blazer and finally finds it on the ground by a trash can. It's torn at the seams in several places but she puts it on anyway, donning it like it's the finest silk robe in the world.

"Why the hell would it be my fault? How hard do you think they hit me?" Quill snaps.

"I-" River swallows the apology. "You look ashamed. I don't know why, you were putting up one hell of a fight."

"I was putting up the best fight I could, there's a difference. And it was pathetic. If they had _ever_ met me when I was free, when I could actually fight for myself, they would have been dead in seconds," Quill says, seething, her entire body shaking with the force of that fury River had seen in her earlier.

"When you were free?" River asks. She offers Quill a hand, and Quill eyes it for several seconds, first with confusion, then distaste, and finally with something a fraction softer.

Quill slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, slips her hand into River's and allows herself to be guided from the alleyway.

"I'm a slave," Quill says. "There's a creature in my head that stops me from fighting any time it isn't for the sake of protecting my _master_. It also kills me if I use weapons, try to take it out, or fail to protect him."

River stops in the middle of whistling for a cab, and turns to stare at Quill with horror. "What? That's barbaric."

"Really? I had no idea, it's been an absolute bundle of fun so far, as you can see," Quill says sarcastically.

"Did - did someone do that to you _here_?"

"No, it was back on my planet, before it was massacred."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Quill lets out a long breath, and shoves her free hand into her blazer pocket. Her eyes are fixed firmly on the ground. "Yeah."

A cab approaches them, and River waves it down just in case her earlier whistle had been too short. She and Quill climb into the back of it.

"107 Baker Street, please," River says, giving Quill's hand a little squeeze and making the other woman start.

The cabbie nods and sets off.

River finds herself looking at Quill's face - a beautiful, proud face, currently grazed and with a few bruises starting to show up, as well as the blood on her cut lip and underneath her nose. She reaches out with her free hand to touch Quill's chin. The blonde flinches, but allows it.

"You're a warrior, aren't you?" River asks. Quill nods, jaw tight. "I understand now. You were ashamed that you couldn't fight them, even if it's beyond your power."

Quill jerks her head away to look out of the window, and snatches her hand out of River's for good measure. River is fairly sure she spots tears in the corner of her eyes.

The rest of the ride is silent.

As they get close, River realises she'd not brought money because she'd been banking on flirting her way to free drinks, and devises another plan. A quick application of a different, clear lipstick is all that is needed.

The moment the cab driver turns around and gives them the fare total, River grabs him by the shirt and gives him a big smooch, before lightly pushing him back into his seat, where he sits with a dazed, absent smile.

By the time River leans back and wipes the remainder of the lipstick off, Quill is staring at her with bewilderment.

"Can you always do that instead of paying?" She asks, with great interest.

River laughs heartily. "Only if you have a certain amount of hallucinogen in your lipstick formula," she says with a wink. "Now come on, let's get you cleaned up."

She and Quill exit the cab, and approach the door that says 107 on it. River tries the door, frowns at it when it doesn't open, mutters 'ah', and digs in her jacket for her sonic screwdriver.

Quill isn't paying her much attention, she's too busy examining her blazer and sighing. She does look up at the noise, though. "What's that?"

"Best lock pick around," River says, grinning, as she slips the screwdriver back in her pocket.

Quill arches an eyebrow. "What is this place?"

The door opens and they step inside a Victorian-style house, narrow and decorated as though the 20th century hadn't been invented yet, but for the technology. It's dusty, enough so that River realises that she's not sure if anyone's actually lived here - or even visited - since that little shit Thomas Brewster left in 2010. River's only been here once before, and it was back in the 19th century.

"My husband's house," River says with a smile. "Or, one of them, anyway."

"How many does he need?" Quill asks skeptically.

"It's not a matter of need so much as acquiring an absurd amount of things he doesn't by accident or circumstances. Now, upstairs. That's where the bath is."

River makes her way up the stairs and Quill follows.

"Where's your husband now, then?"

"In our house, on a different planet, asleep," River says, with a smile and a shrug. "Best time for a girl to go out and make her own fun, don't you think?"

Quill doesn't offer much in way of reply. River isn't surprised. Quill looks like the kind of person who would have to be introduced to the concept of fun at the snail's pace one might introduce a cat to the ocean. Come to think of it, there's something feline in general about Quill and her movements. River can only hope she's going to be more receptive to the bathtub.

They find the bathroom, which is small, but fitted with the beautiful vintage bath as well as modern plumbing. River bends to put the plug in and get the water going, before looking for bubble bath, or something else.

"Ooh," River says, "how do you feel about lavender?" She's found some lavender oil, which she knows aids stress relief, muscle relief, and relaxation. Or it's supposed to, anyway.

"Should I have an opinion?"

"Not necessarily, but it'll help, if you don't mind me putting some in."

"Whatever you want," Quill mutters, leaning against the doorway. River rolls her eyes and tips a bit into the filling bath.

Once that's done, she stands up and sheds her jacket, putting it on the counter and leaving her in her sparkling mini dress and heels. She slips the latter off and nudges them into a corner.

"Do you want some help with getting cleaned up? Or the company? Or would you rather be alone?" River asks Quill. Any lightheartedness from the cab ride has left them, they are both quiet and tentative now.

"I don't-" Quill swallows. "I don't know, I just-" Her face screws up into tormented indecision. "Goddess, I was nearly, they nearly-" A sob escapes her, and River approaches her slowly, so as not to scare her.

"I know," River says. "But they didn't. You're safe here. Safe with me."

"I don't even _know_ you," Quill snaps.

River stands a little straighter and smiles at her. "Well, that's easily fixed. My name is River Song. I'm a professor of archaeology from the 51st century, compulsive seeker of mischief, I'm married to the most infuriating man in the universe, and I was named after myself."

Quill blinks, and frowns at her. "Seriously?" When River nods, the frown deepens, wrought with confusion. "Okay, I have questions about every single one of those points, starting with what the hell kind of name is-"

"Your turn," River says, shaking her head.

"I'm Quill. Slave. Warrior who now can't fight. Reluctant physics teacher now that I'm stuck on this rock. No spouses or significant others to speak of, because that would require me having the interpersonal skills needed to acquire one. That's about it."

"There, see? Now we know each other," River says.

"My people saw fighting as being the same as living," Quill blurts. "Not being able to fight, it's killing me. I'm cut off from the most essential thing I believe in, the most essential part of who I am-"

She presses her lips together and leans her head back against the doorframe, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I don't even know who I am, anymore. An echo of who I was."

River swallows, wanting to say something but not knowing what. She notices the bath is full and moves to turn off the tap. "Bath's ready," she says, with a weak smile. "It seems like you probably want to be alone."

"That's just it, I really don't," Quill replies with surprising earnest, shaking her head and biting her lip.

"No?"

"I'm always alone. I can be walking through a crowded school, or standing in my kitchen listening to the prince - my master - jabbering on about something, and I'm just as alone as when I eat baked beans alone in my room at night." Quill takes a deep, shaky breath. "I'm always alone, even when I'm surrounded by people, because most people are so terrified of or indifferent about me that they pretty much ignore my existence."

"Oh," River breathes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Quill says. "You're the first person to look at me like I'm a real person since the headmaster at my school was brutally murdered by an interdimensional skin peeling dragon."

River arches an eyebrow, but decides it isn't the time or place to ask questions about _that_.

"I just - it's been a long time since I've talked to anyone who's genuinely interested in what I have to say, and not a moron. So… stay. Please."

River nods. "Of course. Whatever you need."

Quill nods back, seems a little too overwhelmed to reply, and kicks off her shoes before taking off her clothes. River can't quite disguise her sharp intake of breath at the sight of Quill's naked body. Bruises are flowering across her torso, spatterings over her ribcage but the majority over her stomach. There are some on her arms with the distinct shape of a large human hand. Her thighs have a few odd small ones as well, on the outside. River is beyond relieved to see none on her inner thighs, but when Quill's bra is one of the last things to go, River feels sick at the sight of a patch of purple covering part of Quill's left breast.

Quill notices her staring and scowls. "I don't want your pity," she snaps, before moving to get into the bath. She lowers herself into the hot water and stretches out her limbs. A deep sigh escapes her, both tired and relieved.

"It's not pity," River replies, coming to sit next to the bathtub and lean against the nearby counter. "It's sympathy. And the wish that I'd made those men suffer a fair bit more before I blasted them to atoms."

A faint small tugs at her lips. "Ah. Yes. I believe I've yet to say thank you for that." Her eyes meet River's and hold them. "Thank you, River Song. For… saving me."

"You're very welcome," River replies.

Quill cups water in her hands and splashes it on her face, slowly running her hands down it and breathing deeply. She does this twice, and then feels around her cheek, jaw, nose, and mouth, wincing minutely once or twice at the tender or cut spots.

"Do you want me to clean your face up a bit?" River asks. "Since I can see it."

Quill considers this. "Alright."

River gets up. "I'll be right back." She grabs a hair tie from her jacket and goes downstairs, throwing her hair into a messy high ponytail on her way down. Finding the liquor cabinet is easy enough; she grabs some vodka and takes a swig on her way back up the stairs. Once back in the backroom, she finds a flannel, and soaks it in warm water from the sink.

With that, she sits back down by the bath, vodka and flannel in hand.

Quill glances at the vodka, adjusts her position slightly so her arm can reach over the side of the tub and grab the bottle, and takes several large gulps of it before handing it back to River.

"Yeah, that's better," Quill says, licking her lips.

River tips a bit of the vodka onto the flannel. "This is going to sting a bit."

The look Quill gives her is immensely unimpressed. "I'm a warrior of the Quill. I can handle it."

"I know," River says with amusement as she leans in to press the flannel to the first graze on Quill's face. Quill doesn't flinch even a little. "It's just polite to warn all the same, I find. My father was a nurse, and I did often find him worth listening to."

Quill doesn't reply. Her eyes have become vacant. River decides to not push conversation, and instead just gently continues with her word, cleaning the grazes and the cut lip and washing away the dried blood around her nose and mouth. The only time Quill shows any kind of reaction is when River's other hand at one point reaches out to turn her face a little, and even then, it's a completely indiscernible one that lasts all of a second.

"There, all done," River says, smiling softly. "Is there anywhere else you need me to-"

"I'm fine," Quill replies, not looking at her. Her eyes are fixed on the wall directly opposite her. "This is far from the worst beating I've ever had. This is nothing. My pride hurts more than anything else."

"You must have been scared-"

"No shit, I was fucking terrified," Quill snaps, voice trembling.

"Is there… anything else I can do?" River asks.

"Stay," Quill whispers. Her hand slides over her face again, and she leans her head against the edge of the bathtub. "I don't know. Just. Stay and keep… talking to me like you care."

River bites her lip, feeling emotion unexpectedly choke her. Just how damn lonely is this woman? How do the people around her _treat_ her, _ignore_ her, to evoke this kind of reaction when a stranger takes the time to give a shit?

"I'm not going anywhere," River assures her, and gives her a shaky smile. "We're friends now, yeah?"

Quill blinks at her. "Are we?"

"I think so."

"Oh." Quill doesn't seem to know what to do about this. "I haven't had a friend in a very long time. Not since I was fighting my war, but even then, I was their commander, it wasn't the same as when we were younger-"

"You were a commander? In a war?" River asks with interest. "Ooh, this I'd love to hear about. If you don't mind talking about it."

Quill shakes her head. "I'm proud of it. No matter what happened, no matter where it got me, I'll always be proud of my people and what we were fighting for."

"Give me a second to get comfortable, and then I'm all ears," River says, and she gets up and makes a quick dash to the nearest bedroom for a cushion before returning to the bathroom and setting it down by the bathtub. "Hm. Actually. Do you mind if I take this off? The sequins are abrasive as hell that's what I get for trying to be historically accurate."

Quill glances at the mini dress and shrugs. "Do what you like. Not much point in modesty when I'm lying here naked."

"Well, exactly," River chuckles, and pulls the zipper down so the mini dress falls to the floor, leaving her in underwear that is, of course, black and lacy, because she's been _that_ kind of girl since she was sixteen.

Quill's eyes are on her, raking the length of her body, and - _oh_. River is more surprised than she perhaps ought to be to see _that_ look in Quill's eyes.

For good measure, and because, yes, alright, she's a tease at heart, River takes her hair out of the ponytail which she'd done a fairly shoddy job of, and shakes her hair free with a sigh of relief.

Quill swallows, hard. River smirks as she sits down on the cushion and plants her arms on the side of the bath, hands on top of each other to make a perfect rest for her chin.

"So," River says, with a smile that is definitely a bit more flirtatious than is wise or moral under the current circumstances. "You're a _commander_." The word comes out as more of a purr. She can't help herself. Now that Quill's opened that can of worms with blatantly checking River out, River can no longer deny how gorgeous Quill is in turn.

She won't make any advances further than this, of course. After what's happened, it's not something River could stomach doing. But, if Quill wants to, and for the right reasons - which River will be sure to clarify - then, well. There's always the possibility.

"Was," Quill corrects, " _was_ a commander. That was taken from me when they put this thing inside my head. We were freedom fighters against the Rhodia, greedy, self-righteous little horrors who had oppressed us for centuries, while denying they were doing so the whole time. Maybe they genuinely believed they weren't, I dunno. The way they seemed so genuinely shocked and horrified when we properly started organising ourselves and fighting back, sometimes I had to wonder."

"And you were the leader?"

"Eventually. It was more of an accident. The others kept dying, and then I… didn't. And so, I led my people." A small smile curls Quill's lips. "I was good at it, too. They believed in me, because they could see that I believed in them. That I would die for them. That I'd do _anything_ if it meant being free."

River smiles at her, but Quill's face just falls, and bitterness overtakes her features.

"And look at me now," Quill mutters. "The last Quill. And slave to that sanctimonious prince."

She's so miserable. So resigned. It almost physically pains River to have to see it, and she can't stop herself from sitting up straight and reaching out to take Quill's chin in her hand, making the younger woman look at her.

"I _am_ looking at you," River says, with a soft smile. "And you know what I see? A survivor. A warrior who _tries_ , who does everything that she can. So don't you dare let some _man-"_

"Boy-"

"- some _boy_ make you feel small, because I've known you all of an hour, Quill, and I know you are the furthest thing from that."

Quill stares at her. And then she abruptly leans forward and presses her lips against River's in an earnest kiss. River's hands cup Quill's face as she kisses her back just as eagerly. It's strangely soft, considering what kind of people are they, but then, it's just been that kind of day.

When they finally stop to breathe, Quill's eyes are dark, but still vulnerable, still desperately _needing_ River in a way that is so delicious River can barely stand it.

"Take me to bed," Quill whispers.

River nods, kisses her again, just for a moment, and helps her out of the tub. She grabs a towel from the rack and wraps it around Quill before guiding her out of the door and down the hallway to the master bedroom.

It's a beautiful room, all varnished wood and antique furniture - including the four poster bed dominating the space of the room.

They stop near the edge of it, and River gently uses the towel to dry Quill's body and get the excess water out of her hair - she'd only dunked her head under once, while River had been downstairs, it seemed. Quill is impatient, and throws the towel aside before pulling River into another kiss, pulling River's curvy body against her slender one.

River laughs against her mouth when she feels Quill's hands behind her back, unhooking her bra.

"You know, I'd almost forgotten what it feels like to do this with someone who isn't a gangly man-child with occasional sensual aversion," River says.

"You what?" Quill mumbles against her mouth, sounding like she can't possibly imagine how this is relevant.

"My husband takes a lot of, er, warming up," River says, chuckling. "I love him, and love him for it, and honestly it's a compliment, really, that he lets me touch him at all-"

Quill stops kissing her and pulls away, frowning. "Do you often talk about your husband to people you're about to have sex with?"

River shrugs. "Sometimes. Benny and Clara never seem to mind. But then, they're old friends of his."

"Nice for them," Quill remarks. "But don't worry. I have _several_ ideas about how I can make sure I'm the complete focus of your attention."

She starts to drop to her knees, and with a reluctant groan, River grabs her shoulders and pulls her back up.

"You are, darling," River assures her, kissing her again, so slow and sweet that she feels Quill's body melt into hers. "Which is why I'm going to get you to lie back and let me take care of you."

Quill blinks, and then shudders when River's hands sweep across her torso.

"If this is actually what you want," River is quick to add, halting her hands in their path. "If you change your mind, at any point, _tell me_. After what happened to you today, it would be perfectly understandable."

"I just want to be touched," Quill whispers, eyes watering, "that's all I've wanted since I got stuck here. It didn't have to be about _love_ or anything so sentimental, but goddess, that kind of thing should at least come with _respect_ , and it just _figures_ that the first to want to would be those men, who just - they didn't - they didn't see _me_ , I was just-"

She starts crying, and River pulls her into a tight embrace, rubbing her back and kissing the side of her head.

"I know, I know," River soothes.

"Please touch me," Quill asks, voice barely audible. "Please, River."

River leans back and nods before kissing her, hands cradling her face and dusting the skin of her cheek with the tiniest touches of her fingertips. "I will. I will, darling. I'm going to make you feel wonderful. Just you lie back."

Quill swallows hard and steps the few steps backward until the back of her knees hit the bed, and she shuffles back so that she's lying down and propped up on her elbows.

River smiles. "God, look at you. Has anyone told you that you're absolutely beautiful?"

Quill glances down at her body. "I'm covered in bruises. I look like a mess."

"Beautiful," River insists, as she climbs onto the bed and gently pushes Quill's legs apart so that she can sit between her calves. Her hands run along the length of Quill's legs, from ankle to upper thigh, and back down. The touch is light, yet deliberate, and Quill's eyes are locked on her face like she's physically forgotten how to look at anything else. "Completely, and utterly, beautiful. Trust me, I'm an expert on these things."

Quill's breath catches in her throat as something flashes through her eyes. Not used to genuine compliments, perhaps. Or compliments in any capacity. Well, River can fix that.

River starts slow kisses where her hands have been tracing, lifting one of Quill's legs and brushing her lips across the skin until she reaches mid inner thigh, and then doing the same with her other leg. Her hands slide over Quill's outer thighs as River leans forward to start the kisses again at Quill's stomach and moving upwards.

Quill's lying with her head back and eyes closed, occasionally making tiny little sounds that tell River far too much about exactly how touch starved Quill has been up until this point.

River takes extra care to be gentle with the expanse of bruises on Quill's stomach but also to lavish them with affection, working her way up until her mouth closes around Quill's nipple and Quill lets out the softest of moans.

As soon as River moves higher, Quill is grabbing River and pulling her into a needy kiss, that feels like a 'thank you' and a 'please don't stop'. River smiles against her lips and then kisses down her neck, meanwhile sliding her leg over the duvet so that her knee presses ever so lightly against the apex of Quill's legs.

Her hands stroke down Quill's arms, feeling the muscles there that for some reason just aren't visible to the naked eye.

"You're strong, aren't you?" River asks, with interest. "Like, physically very strong."

Quill gives her a grin, albeit one a little breathless and hazy. "If I didn't have this thing in my head, I could bench press you, easily."

River lifts an eyebrow and gives her an approving grin. "I somehow don't doubt it. Beautiful, strong, capable commander of a revolutionary army… is there anything you _can't_ do?"

Quill preens a bit at that, and River smiles and cups Quill's breasts, making Quill's whole body arch into the touch.

River presses her thigh more firmly against Quill's core, and feels heat there against her skin that has nothing to do with the hot water Quill's so recently left behind. Sure enough, Quill rocks against her just a little. Well, a little at first, and then River can see the faint pleasure flash through her eyes before Quill does it again, harder.

River smiles. "Does that feel good?" Quill nods a little. "Do you want me to make you feel good?" Another nod, with hunger in her eyes.

River moves so that she's straddling Quill properly, and her thighs keep a firm hold of Quill's hips. Quill bucks them, making both women groan a little at the glorious friction, augmented by the lace of River's underwear. Quill's body is probably more than ready for some more direct stimulation, by this point, but River wants to be absolutely sure. She wants to have Quill utterly melting.

First, River turns her attention back to Quill's breasts, her lips and tongue falling on them eagerly while Quill's fingers knot in her voluminous curls as encouragement.

When one of River's hands slides between Quill's body and the bed to stroke her fingertips down Quill's spine, though, Quill outright whimpers, a little 'ohhh' escaping her mouth along with a few tears in her eyes. River would almost be worried that she might have done something wrong, if not for another buck of Quill's hips.

So, quite the opposite of something wrong, then.

"Do that again," Quill breathes. River does, her fingers tracing the line of Quill's backbone, making her shudder in her arms.

More kissing, before River moves on. Kissing and kissing and holding back from nipping Quill's lips bc she knows they're sore enough as it is. It doesn't stop Quill from biting _her_ lip, though, which is lovely.

Finally, River kisses her way down Quill's body, shuffling herself back so that she can sit between Quill's legs and push them further apart, opening the other woman to her gaze.

"Beautiful," River murmurs as she puts her hair back up into another hurried ponytail.

Quill's eyes are fixed on her again, dark and intent. Her breathing isn't _quite_ right, and River has to smile, because she's only just begun, really.

With that, she lowers her head and kisses up the insides of Quill's thighs until she reaches their peak. When her tongue sweeps across Quill's core, the younger woman's body squirms a little as she inhales sharply.

River has countless techniques for going down on women. Mainly because every woman is different, and likes different things at different times. Right now, with Quill, it's about being gentle, but not lazy.

She focuses her tongue on Quill's clit, with the lightest, most teasing of touches, while slipping two fingers inside Quill for good measure.

A moan escapes Quill. Good. Now they're getting somewhere.

It's easy to get lost in the taste and feel of Quill. The way she rolls her hips in time with River's fingers, the way she lets out that little needy noise in her throat when River curls them or runs her tongue directly over her clit instead of just around it.

Quill's hand is gripping River's ponytail, holding her closer as River's touches elicit more and more sounds from her.

It isn't until River realises that one of those sounds is _crying_ that she stops and looks up at Quill with concern.

"Darling, what's wrong?" She asks, urgently. "I told you to tell me if-"

Quill shakes her head hopelessly, and presses her hips against River's hand, prompting her to start moving her fingers again. "No, I just - I've never even had sex that wasn't obscenely violent, let alone-" Quill whispers, and swallows. "That's just how my people were. But this, I - I didn't know sex could be like this."

"Oh, sweetie," River says, heart panging. "I like a good rough fucking as much as the next person, but sometimes _this_ is what we need, don't you think?"

Quill nods, wiping the tears from her eyes embarrassedly. River kisses her stomach, and hip bone, and lets her mouth travel back down to suck lightly at Quill's clit, making Quill gasp.

River takes delight in hearing Quill's breathing get more and more shallow as River fucks her slowly and intently. In feeling her body start to tremble. River is in no rush; she's never before been more focused on ensuring someone's pleasure be so _exact,_ so perfect (the Doctor is, once you get him going, a simple enough creature in this respect, as most people with his anatomy are).

River's name starts falling from Quill's lips like a prayer, and when River brings her to the edge at a torturous pace, her breathing is so ragged that the name is more gasp than spoken word.

"Please," she whispers.

River licks at her steadily, feeling her legs shake before the orgasm finally takes her, making her cry out. And also cry, River realises, when she glances up and sees the tears in Quill's eyes.

River strokes Quill's thigh as she cleans her other set of fingers with her mouth. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Thank you," Quill whispers, with a kind of gratitude in her eyes that is so strong it very nearly makes River uncomfortable.

River lets her hair loose and climbs up to lie next to Quill, cuddling into her and draping an arm lazily over Quill's stomach. "You are very, very welcome."

Quill had just wanted a drink. A simple drink, somewhere that didn't have an infuriating prince or his annoyingly nice boyfriend. But of course, some disgusting human males had decided to spoil those plans. The rage builds in her chest again just thinking about it, sparking the panic and the fear and the hurt, but then River's hand strokes over her hair and Quill is calm again.

River is… a soothing presence that Quill couldn't have thought up in her wildest dreams. (Seriously, how could she have imagined that hair?)

Her saviour, apparently - which should be a nauseating thing to think. It's not. It's just… nice.

River is a warrior too. Quill can see it in her eyes. That makes it even better, somehow. She and River are the same, in at least some respects.

"So what's _your_ story?" Quill asks.

River smiles, and tells her. Or, she tries, before almost immediately hitting a point that makes Quill jerk her head around to look at her with surprise.

"You know _the Doctor_?" Quill asks, with alarm.

"Yes," River says, "he's my husband."

"He's your _what_?!" Quill stares at her with disbelief, feeling like the world's gone mad. "You just said that you were engineered to kill him!"

"I was," River says, chuckling. "But I decided to marry him instead."

Quill blinks, still bewildered, but makes a face that says _alright, whatever you say_. "Fine, whatever. Your life, I suppose. If you want to marry a self-righteous old owl with a stupid accent, that's on you."

"He was baby faced and into bowties when I first met him," River tells her. "No accent with noting."

"Oh right, that regeneration business. Weird."

River looks at her with intense curiosity. "How do _you_ know him?"

"He's the reason I'm here, he saved the prince and I from the massacre that killed the rest of our people," Quill says. "Brought us here, to try and make a new life. Never did anything about the thing in my head, though. Said he couldn't. To his credit, he did… try, I suppose. As much as he could, without killing me."

"I'm sure he did, he wouldn't stand for slavery, Quill, you have to trust me on that," River says seriously, brushing Quill's hair behind her ear.

Quill still feels bitter whenever she thinks about the Doctor. Still feels like he could have tried harder than he had, passed more judgement on Charlie for it if he had _really_ thought it was wrong.

Maybe that isn't fair. But she doesn't care.

And now she's slept with his wife.

"This is weird now," Quill says, uneasily.

River looks at her with those clear, intelligent eyes of hers. "What is?" She asks, while still stroking Quill's hair. It makes Quill want to forget all about this and just close her eyes and let herself be touched by River Song until she melts into the mattress.

"Having sex with the Doctor's wife."

River laughs. "We're not monogamous, darling. I love him, more than anything, so much it'll destroy me one day, I think, but we're both too… complicated to not sometimes sleep with other people."

"Obviously," Quill says, rolling her eyes. "I couldn't care less about monogamy. I just mean - I don't know. It just feels strange, now."

"I'm still the same person I was when I rescued you in that alley, and when I had my head between your legs," River assures her, with an amused little shake of her head.

Quill supposes she's right. Still -

"Prove it," Quill challenges, with a little smirk.

River's eyes spark with a delightful mischief, and she shifts their position so that Quill's body is being shadowed by hers. The little spoon, the humans call it. Quill quietly loves it; the feeling of River's body curled around hers protectively is nothing short of wonderful.

Then River's hand travels over Quill's body, cupping her breast and rolling the nipple before slipping lower, lower and lower until her fingers are back between Quill's legs. Two fingers slide into Quill while her thumb teases around her clit, and Quill lets out a sigh of appreciation.

She wishes she could see River, but turning her neck is too much effort. Quill settles for letting her eyes fall half closed, a half view down her body to see River's fingers fucking her more than enough as far as visual stimulation goes.

River's lips run along Quill's shoulder and neck.

"You feel so wonderful," River murmurs. "Do you have any idea? Gorgeous and soft and firm all at once. Like something out of one of my fantasies."

The words warm Quill in a strange way, deep in her chest, and she inhales just a little too sharply.

"Promise me, that after this, you'll find someone to treat you like this," River says. "Like you're deserving of all the dignity and pleasure you could possibly want."

"Who would want _me_?"

"You're strong… and fierce... and beautiful," River tells her, and this time the words send heat shooting down Quill's body, between her legs, where she bucks against River's fingers. "Anyone with sense should see and want that."

Is she getting off on being given compliments? Is that how far she's fallen? Have the Rhodia and humans made her feel so small and insignificant that _this_ is what being told she's worth something makes her feel?

River keeps murmuring things against her neck and in her ear, endearments and tiny compliments that make Quill's chest swell. Meanwhile, her fingers curl inside Quill and stroke her until Quill is keening, River's thumb against her clit but not moving enough.

It's so much, after nothing for so long - too much, but also not enough.

River likes to take her time with Quill, it seems. She never stops touching Quill, but seems to know exactly how to stop her from reaching her peak too early, how to build her up so slowly that Quill feels like she's burning, going out of her mind.

Quill loses track of time completely. What is time, compared to River's lips on her shoulder? Compared to her fingers inside her? It's all a haze of warmth and soft lips and a gentle thumb against her clit, sensation blurring completely.

It's bliss.

Finally, the haze starts to fade as she feels herself getting closer to that peak, finally, after what feels like hours. (Maybe it has been hours. Quill has no idea. It's been a _lot_ longer than the first time, that's for sure.)

"That's it," River whispers. "You're close now, aren't you?"

Quill nods, eyes shut, focused on the warmth and pressure building between her legs, on the tightness in her chest. It's a surprise when she feels River's free hand on her chin.

"Look at me," River says, turning her head back so that their eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an age.

Goddess, River Song is so beautiful. Quill had almost forgotten. She's not unlike a goddess herself, or the silly idealised kind that humans go on about, anyway.

River's eyes are dark and warm and Quill is more than happy to get lost in them as the pleasure rises in her body, making her breathing rasp and her legs shake.

"I-"

"I know," River says, smiling, touching her hair. "It feels good, doesn't it? I told you I'd make you feel good."

Quill nods, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "Yeah, you did," she whispers, and she wants to say more but can't because she's _so close_ and she can't breathe, and -

Her gasp as she comes turns into a whimper halfway through, and River catches it in a kiss, holding her through the orgasm and not slowing her hand's movements until it's passed completely.

Quill feels her body turn to jelly, melting into River and the bed with a contentment she's not previously thought possible.

They lie there for a long time, River stroking Quill's hair, and Quill finds herself wishing she could stay in this house, in this bed with River, forever. It would throw a wrench in her plans for revenge against the Shadowkin, but in this particular moment, Quill feels like she's floating, and just can't bring herself to care, even though she knows she should.

Quill is just reaching the logical conclusion that it's probably time she return the favour to River and go about giving her some orgasms, when her head twinges.

"Oh no," Quill says, praying to the goddess she doesn't believe in that what she thinks is happening isn't.

"What's wrong?" River asks.

Another twinge, more painful this time. Quill finds herself screaming into the duvet. It isn't fair. Why should she have to leave, right now, just because the prince is doing something idiotic?

"I have to go," Quill says, barely able to get the words out because they taste so foul.

"What?"

"The prince is in danger, the thing in my head's telling me I need to get to him, now," Quill spits. She reluctantly pulls out of River's embrace and heads out of the room towards the bathroom, where her clothes are.

River follows her, grabbing her bra on the way, and she pulls on her mini dress and jacket while Quill angrily gets dressed.

"Look, it's alright, how about this?" River asks, touching Quill's face and smiling. "Meet me back here in a week. Eight o'clock in the evening. Because while I _should_ be focusing on marital bliss for the next while, that doesn't mean I can't come see you after that. And I'm a time traveller, so I can take as long as I like and still be on time."

"A week from today, eight o'clock?" Quill repeats. It seems too impossible to hope that this might be a thing that could happen more than once.

"I mean, I've got this expedition I should probably go on first, but like I say, it won't make any difference on your end," River says cheerfully. She's gotten some little blue book out of her jacket, and is scribbling something inside towards the end.

Another twinge in her head, one that makes Quill clutch it and immediately head for the stairs once she's got her shoes on. Again, River follows.

"Alright, works for me," Quill says, wincing as the arn starts making the pain more constant.

They've reached the front door. Quill grabs River and pulls her into a kiss that is desperate and grateful and everything she has been feeling but couldn't possibly express in words. River seems to understand, as she kisses back and smiles as they pull away.

"Thank you," Quill says breathlessly, and then she's out the door.

* * *

A week later, Quill finds a way of not quite telling Charlie where she's going without actually lying, and gets a cab to Baker Street. She's more excited than she's been in a long time, something buzzing under her skin, and god help her, she's actually smiling.

Smiling at the thought of seeing River Song. Of River Song smiling at her, touching her with those gentle hands, laughing that wonderful laugh of hers.

The cab pulls up and Quill gets out into the pouring rain, only to come to a stop after a few steps when she sees the figure standing outside the door to 107. A familiar, grey haired figure in a velvet jacket, just barely standing out of the rain thanks to the overhang of the doorway.

"What are you-" Quill's question dies in her throat when she sees the book in his hand. The little blue book.

An awful cold falls over Quill's body, one that has nothing to do with the rain swiftly soaking her through her clothes. Without him having said a word, she knows exactly what he's doing here.

"She gave me permission to read it," the Doctor says, with a strange, almost-pitying-but-not look. "Once she was-" He coughs. "Imagine my surprise, when I found you in it. And today's date, after her expedition plans."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Doctor," Quill manages to get out, a strange anger, or bitterness, or _something_ taking her over. No. It isn't a something. It's an absence. The evaporation of the hope that had so briefly taken up home in her.

"And I for yours," he replies, and gives her a weak, sad smile. "I'm glad she could help you."

"Yeah. Whatever, like it matters, now," Quill chokes, and she turns and walks away, hailing the next cab she sees so he can't get any ideas about following her.

Once in the cab, she breaks down, and weeps for River Song, and for herself.

The cab driver seems concerned, but to his credit, doesn't try to talk to her and find out what's wrong. She tips him extra for that, when she leaves. Once she's standing on her doorstep, she pauses and does her best to collect herself, wiping at her aching eyes. The Prince cannot know of her loss.

"Well," Quill murmurs, as she unlocks the door and heads inside, with the intention of collapsing on her bed and crying herself to sleep, "business as normal, then."


End file.
